


Interview With A Vetinari

by tielan



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the matter of the education of young Samuel Vimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interview With A Vetinari

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultimaromanorum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimaromanorum/gifts).



It started with the Incident Of The Octosquid At The Teaparty.

The octosquid – a dangerous felon – escaped the ‘prison’ of his box, requiring Commander Carrot1 and Captain Angua2 to give chase. Chase entailed running out into the hallway and down the stairs, at which point the dangerous felon accidentally sailed over the railing, landing on the head of Alisanda Makall's high-strung poodle.

Alisanda Makall's poodle tried to take refuge under Lady Hunsdowne’s skirts. Lady Hunsdowne took two hasty steps back to avoid the poodle, and trod ungently on Asterveni Camberwell’s left foot. Asterveni Camberwell let out a shriek that cracked the front hallway mirror and made the second maid skid, her arms windmilling, and the tray of cream cakes and delicate sweetmeats she was carrying flew through the air and scattered unbecomingly over Palomina Selachii’s brand new silk dress.

Mama did say she never much liked them anyway.

But after that, the question of Young Samuel Vimes’ education became a priority at Ramkin House.

* * *

“You came from the Quirm College for Young Ladies,” Lady Sybil said with brisk courtesy. “A good solid school.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve listed my qualifications from there, although my more recent references are more pertinent to this work.”

“I saw them. You come…well-referred.”

* * *

“I’ve told Sam that Ankh-Morpork has some excellent schools…”

Vimes grunted as he huffed out a long smoke ring. “Where they’ll just teach him to be a nob?”

Familiar with His Grace the Duke of Ankh’s class prejudices, Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at the statement from the man whom anyone, looking at his title and his entitlements, would have presumed was the nob of nobs.

“The Assassin’s Guild is out of the question, of course.” Havelock didn't bother to mention any of the others. Tradesmen and orphans might join the regular Guilds, by all means – but a scion of one of the most powerful men in the city? No.

“Hah. I might as well just backstab him myself.”

“A governess or tutor?”

Vimes dragged his fingers along his chin, rubbing at a spot where he’d missed with the razor. “Sybil is looking.”

* * *

“Your family are—”

“Dead, ma’am.”

Lady Sybil paused. “Yes. Rather, I was wondering about the title…”

“It remains extant.”

A pause. “I see.”

* * *

“I imagine the difficulty with finding someone to educate an intelligent and enthusiastic young gentlemen is…finding someone to educate an intelligent and enthusiastic young gentleman.”

Lady Sybil stirred from the socks she was darning, most effectually, if not with any particular skill. “I’m interviewing candidates, but they’re too often…lacking.”

Havelock could see that.

Considering the young man had fronted up to Havelock at the start of this evening and asked point-blank if he really was a vampire3, whether it was true that the Assassins refused to kill him4, and if the new taxation system was really going to beggar the people who contributed most to the city’s overall well-being5, he had a deep respect for Young Samuel’s intellectual prowess.

In addition to which, what Lady Sybil might accept from a governess for her son was not the same as what Vimes would accept – and walking the fine line between educating Young Mister Vimes in a manner befitting his class and station in life, while yet instilling in him the sense of duty and responsibility required of a civic leader, without crushing the spirit out of him, _and_ managing life in a household full of the kinds of people Vimes and Lady Sybil employed would take a very certain, very strong-willed soul indeed.

A conundrum indeed.

* * *

“We’re looking for someone to guide young Sam through his pursuits rather than rein him in.”

“And his pursuits would be?”

“So far? Poo, dragons, cows, policing, architecture, and poo.” Lady Sybil paused. “We’re hoping the resurgence of his interest in fecal processes is temporary.”

“It usually is. Eventually.”

* * *

“Yes, I concede the difficulty.” Havelock steepled his fingers for a moment, not quite smiling behind them. “A pity that Drumknott has so much on his plate at the moment. I’m sure a young man of such energy and ideas would be a most welcome addition to the management of civic life. A new perspective.”

Vimes gave him a look. “Oh, no, don’t even _think_ about that.”

“I am thinking of nothing, Vimes. Merely postulating that such inventive and forward-thinking minds are much needed in the governing of our fair city.”

“Havelock.” Sybil was less successful at hiding her smile. “Sam, you know he’s just teasing you. Of course, if Young Samuel took an interest in politics—”

“Gods, Sybil, we could just cut his throat for him – it would be cleaner and faster! Politics is a slow death, anyway you look at it. Unless you’re _you_.” He waved the cigar stub at Havelock. “And how many years did you spend setting up the system to work?”

“Enough.”

“I don’t want that for Sam.”

“Then, Vimes, the question presents itself: what do you want for your son?”

* * *

“Mostly, we wish to know that Samuel is being educated as befits his station in life, although perhaps with a…a slightly better sense of his responsibilities to society.”

“Not a fribble.”

Lady Sybil smiled. “I imagine your own background has given you some insight into this situation?”

“A little.”

When the young woman didn’t continue, Lady Sybil continued. “We would have to discuss remuneration, of course. But that should come after you have the opportunity to meet Samuel.”

“Which one?”

* * *

The man who stepped into the door didn’t look like Duke. Then again, Susan supposed, she hardly looked like a Duchess.

Frankly, she was a little surprised that Lady Sybil had agreed to her requests – most employers wouldn’t have been quite so permissive. Then again, this household was not ‘most’ households.

She’d received a side-eye from the butler when she walked in: the kind of look that she’d expect from a thug in the street, not a man dressed up in the finest linen a servant could wear. Lady Sybil had greeted her in work gear, apologising before going to change. And a little goblin girl had drifted out of the sitting room just as the maid showed Susan in.

So, very different from the Gaiter’s.

“Ah, Sam,” Lady Sybil said. “This is Susan Sto Helit, who’s answered for the position of governess to Young Sam. Susan, my husband, Sir Samuel.”

Susan bobbed a curtsey, knowing what was expected of her, even before dukes who didn’t look like dukes. Even before dukes who’d been coppers who were giving her the front-eye6.

“Susan Sto Helit.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Of the Sto Helit Sto Helits?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Susan shook the hand that was thrust her way, meeting the wary and steady gaze of a man whose brutally clear-eyed cynicism went even deeper than her own.

"You actually _want_ to teach my son?"

There were ways and ways to answer this. Susan went with the truth. "No. But I think he'll need me teaching him."

"Right." He smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile, but it wasn't a nasty one either. “Well, good luck with that.”

 

[1] A plush carrot.

[2] A stuffed doggy.

[3] "The second floor footman says you're a vampire."

[4] "Why won't the Assassins kill you?" "They do not consider it in their best interests to see me dead." "Oh. Wilkins says they wouldn't touch Dad either." "It is most definitely not in their best interests to see your father dead." "Because of the Watch." "Ye-e-s. Among other reasons."

[5] "Lord Selachii says that taxes are a hole in the pocket of the wealthy and they merely fund the public teat on which the poor and incumbent suck." "Yes, I imagine he would." "Sir?" "Yes, Mr. Vimes?" "What's a 'public teat'?"

[6] Like the side-eye, only rather more direct. On the other hand, Susan had stared down Death and Auditors. The Duke of Ankh was small potatoes compared with that - although very good for a human.

 


End file.
